


Fireworks

by skeleton_twins, thekeyholder



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Fireworks, Flirting, Fluff, Fourth of July, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeleton_twins/pseuds/skeleton_twins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/pseuds/thekeyholder
Summary: Mayor Cobblepot organizes a fourth of July celebration in Gotham’s Central Park. Surprisingly, Jim Gordon also attends it and Oswald is not sure whether it’s the heat or the detective is really flirting with him.





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, we're back with another collab! Thank you for reading, we hope you enjoy this story!!!
> 
> A million thanks to Nekomata58919 for the beta!
> 
> Fic inspired by this picture of Ben McKenzie: https://68.media.tumblr.com/fb223ae2d9efff27d0a8e1deb4146ef4/tumblr_messaging_osj4kbbg221rltqbd_500.jpg

Oswald is sprawled on his bed, reading  _ Murder on the Orient Express _ and enjoying the newly-installed air conditioning in the Van Dahl manor. Even though Gotham is famous for its cold and rainy days, when summer hits it’s like being trapped in a concrete and metal hell. It’s slightly better outside the city, but Oswald thought it necessary to update the manor to modern times.

 

Nevertheless, he has to start preparing soon and he groans inwardly, wishing he had never come up with the plan. After his numbers have been ever increasing and his popularity has skyrocketed after becoming mayor, Oswald decided to organize a 4th of July celebration in Gotham’s Central Park. It seemed like a good strategy at the time, but now, with it being 95 degrees outside, he doesn’t feel like leaving his cool home.

 

With a resigned sigh, Oswald closes his book and walks to his closet. He’s going to deliver a speech later, so he needs to dress formally. Luckily, he has a few summer suits and he picks a beige linen one with a white shirt. Oswald’s skin is already overheating as he’s buttoning up his shirt and he glances at the vest hung on the coathanger, pondering. It wouldn’t be improper if he didn’t wear the vest, would it?

 

Oswald decides that a speech in the middle of the park in the early evening when most people will most probably be drunk already doesn’t call for a vest, so he puts it back in the closet. He chooses a dark blue tie with white polka dots and after he puts on his suit jacket, Oswald finishes his attire with a pocket handkerchief with the same pattern as the tie.

 

He assesses his image in the mirror ‒ the bright colors are unusual on him, but they suit him well. He sprays some cologne behind his ears and walks to the living room where he finds Gabe fanning himself with a newspaper.

 

“You’re going to boil in that suit, Boss,” he says, shaking his head.

 

“I’m the mayor, I can’t just appear in a t-shirt and shorts. I’ll be fine. Bring the car to the front, please.”

 

A few minutes later, Oswald steps outside and the sudden change in temperature makes his throat feel dry like parchment. The asphalt is emanating hot waves, his formal shoes constricting already. Oswald takes a deep breath of the scorching air and hurries to the limousine while the back of his neck is already burning. He can do this, he’s survived much worse things.

 

Some of the main roads are closed in Gotham, but of course, the mayor gets a pass, so Gabe can park right by the park which is decorated with red, blue and white string flags. There are families sitting on blankets and picnicking, kids running around and playing, and far in the back, Oswald can see the stage. As soon as he opens the door, the smell of barbecue hits Oswald and it makes him realize that he’s only had some fruit in the morning. 

 

“Hey, Boss, don’t forget this,” Gabe says and pokes Oswald’s back with something.

 

It’s a white Panama fedora which makes Oswald scoff, because he doesn’t want to ruin his hairdo.

 

“You don’t want another sunstroke,” Gabe says and Oswald has flashbacks to his speech on a strawberry farm where he was under the sun for hours, without wearing any protection and then lay in bed with throbbing headache, nausea and muscle pain.

 

“Fine,” he grumbles, then quickly plasters a smile on his face when he sees reporters approaching.

 

A young, eager reporter elbows her way through the crowd of other journalists, arm stretched out with her phone in her hand, recording. “Mayor Cobblepot, a moment of your time, you plan to give a speech later, will you address the recent criticisms regarding your approach and methods in office?”

 

Oswald tries to focus on the words coming from the newswoman. The stifling heat makes it difficult. 

 

“Those concerns from certain parties have been brought to my attention and will be addressed at a later time. However, I organized this event to not dwell on the naysayers, but for families to celebrate.” Oswald smiles. Perspiration has already began to collect along his forehead. 

 

He tries wiping it away without drawing too much attention, swallows before adding, “Since I’ve taken place in office, Gotham’s crime is at an all time low. As I promised, Gotham is becoming safer and safer for events such as this to happen. Families won't have to worry about criminals running amok throughout the city.”

 

“Excuse me.” Oswald makes his escape, quickly moving away from the group of reporters. 

 

He has faced more perilous situations than he could count on one hand, stood at the end of a gun’s barrel once or twice, but this was entirely new for him. Growing up, Oswald never experienced such an outing before, living in the rough parts of Gotham, he never had the opportunity. Any time spent with other children were ones that always ended with bruises. 

 

Oswald feels like a fish out of water, but he ignores this feeling; instead, he paints an expression that doesn’t resemble anything close to disdain and steps forward to greet his constituents. 

 

There’s no relief from the scorching temperature as he moves further into the park. No light breeze coming in either direction. Oswald distracts himself watching the families, hearing the laughter and the soft music from the radio’s speakers. Out of his peripheral vision, he spots movement rushing towards him. Oswald’s reflexes kick in, and he quickly catches the child by the shoulders before the young boy could knock into his cane, preventing a spectacle of the newly appointed mayor falling right on his face in front of half of the city. 

 

“Careful.” 

 

The ginger-haired boy grins at him, revealing two missing front teeth before racing off once more. The corners of Oswald’s lips tug into half of a smile as he straightens his suit. The back of his neck tingles, feelings of being watched arise and Oswald begins to glance around the park. 

 

His breath catches when he sees Jim Gordon from across the grass, standing near the grill. Oswald’s never seen Jim so casually dressed before, beige shorts and a tight white polo shirt with its sleeves straining to enclose the arms beneath. 

 

The detective’s appearance is a surprise. Oswald didn’t expect to see Jim Gordon here. He can’t recall Jim ever attending any event he has held since he’s been mayor, whether it’s because he is too busy catching criminals or he doesn’t want to do anything with Oswald.

 

Jim is the first to break eye contact, passing the spatula to the man he had been talking with,  before he’s making his way through the crowd. Oswald becomes wide-eyed as he realizes Jim’s heading for his direction, nervously smoothing over his suit jacket.

 

“Oswald.”

 

“What a surprise, Jim! I did not expect to see you here!” Oswald hates how shaky his voice is, like a teenager’s who’s just noticed his crush in the school hallway.

 

“Well, Harvey signed us up for barbecue duty,” Jim says, rolling his eyes, but he smiles. “He was very excited by the prospect of free food as you can tell.”

 

Oswald glances in the direction towards which Jim’s thumb is pointing. Not surprisingly, Bullock is stuffing his face with a hotdog while giving instructions to a young man so loudly, his voice carries over to Oswald.

 

“Listen to Uncle Harvey, smother those ribs in more sauce and then grill them for another two minutes. It will be so good that you’ll start crying.”

 

Oswald snickers and then blushes when he realizes that Jim’s been watching him with a funny expression. While he momentarily forgot about the hellish weather, the embarrassment makes his cheeks burn even more, and he helplessly starts fanning himself with his hand.

 

“It’s so hot today, isn’t it?” Oswald asks, his eyes darting around, unable to look at Jim directly.

 

“Why don’t you take off your jacket?” Jim asks with a raised brow. 

 

“That would be quite improper, Jim. I have always followed etiquette, I won’t start breaking its rules now.”

 

Jim shakes his head slightly, but doesn’t comment further on the matter. “Alright, stay hydrated then. I have to go back to flipping burgers.”

 

“Oh, alright,” Oswald says, slightly disappointed that their awkward chit-chat will be soon over.

 

“See you around.”

 

Oswald watches Jim’s retreating back for a bit, admiring the muscles flexing under the tight shirt and Jim’s calves, toned and tanned. The mayor shakes his head; there’s absolutely no need to make himself feel hotter than necessary. Just as he’s about to go and talk to a group of moms, Harvey shouts after him.

 

“Hey, hey, Cobblepot! Cool party!”

 

Oswald smiles when he looks over at Bullock who’s raising a beer can. The detective must be already tipsy if he’s complimenting him. But then again, some people are easy to please.  _ Panem et circenses _ , Oswald thinks. Bread and circuses, the Roman emperors’ tactic to keep the masses content. Nothing’s changed in more than two millennia.

 

Even though he doesn’t really want to talk to them, Oswald has to go to the group of soccer moms who have been watching him like hawks, eyes and smiles equally sharp. Oswald stops for a moment when he notices a woman with short hair and blond highlights emerge from the back of the group, but he can’t run away now. As a mayor, he has to be civil to every citizen, even if they are the devil incarnate.

 

“Ah, Mrs. Jacobson. Ladies,” Oswald greets them with a smile and stops as far away from them as possible without seeming rude.

 

“Mr. Mayor, so nice to see you. How fortunate that we meet, we need to discuss something.”

 

“Mrs. Jacobson, this might not be the right time to-”

 

“Mayor Cobblepot, with all due respect, this is a  _ major  _ issue and it needs to be addressed as soon as possible. The Cadwell family has installed atrocious garden decorations yet again.”

 

Oswald represses his urge to roll his eyes, and nods patiently. “I see… Why don’t you call the office on Monday, Mrs. Jacobson, and we’ll discuss the details then.”

 

“No, Mr. Mayor, this has to be solved  _ immediately _ . I, that is we, the whole neighbourhood,” and here Mrs. Jacobson looked around at her minions who nodded fiercely, “cannot stand to look at those monstrous pink flamingos a second longer.”

 

Oswald struggles to think of an excuse, but there is no conceivable possibility of escape from Mrs. Jacobson and her impending rant about flamingos. The tricks Oswald typically uses to get out of sticky situations wouldn’t work here. Nothing that wouldn’t get him arrested on the spot and his mayorship revoked. Instead, he’s forced to socialize.

 

He watches with fear and a touch of admiration as Mrs. Jacobson pushes her blond hair away from her forehead, seemingly unaffected standing under the broiling sun. Oswald figures she must be adapted to warm temperatures, having hell as her residence and all. 

 

The woman opens her mouth, takes a deep inhale as if preparing herself for a long-winded speech, but she’s interrupted before she gets the chance. 

 

“Oswald, you ready?” 

 

There is almost an intimacy in the way his name falls from Jim’s lips. Only a scarce few here would address the mayor by his first name. The gentle press of fingers curling around his bicep doesn’t help dispel the tension either. There’s a coolness to Jim’s touch, seeping through the layers of his suit, and Oswald wonders if Jim had just been handling a cold drink moments before.

 

“Detective Gordon,” Mrs. Jacobson greets, tight-lipped. 

 

Jim pretends as if he’s noticing her for the first time. “Oh, Mrs. Jacobson, I didn’t see you there. Oswald and I have a thing we must attend to.” 

 

Oswald’s beyond confused, but he spots Jim’s intention. This is a rescue mission, though he doesn’t quite understand why Jim’s acting as his savior from a league of soccer moms.

 

“We have some last minute practicing to do if we want to win the cornhole tournament.” 

 

It’s a bold-faced lie. A ridiculous one; no one would ever consider Mayor Cobblepot to play cornhole in a million years, but Jim says it with so much sincerity that even Oswald believes him for a second.

 

Jim’s ambush seems to throw Mrs. Jacobson off-kilter ‒ clearly, she isn’t used to being on this side of the ambushing. “But I was just about to explain to our Mayor about the impacts of gaudy yard decoration on a community.”

 

“Tell you what.” Jim seems to actually consider her words. “There’s an eager cop who would love to hear all your complaints over there by the grill. His name’s Harvey Bullock.” 

 

Oswald snorts, but quickly covers it with a fake cough when both Jim and Mrs. Jacobson turn towards him.

 

Mrs. Jacobson seems satisfied enough, thanks them both before her crew goes to harass Bullock about pink plastic flamingos.

 

“Thank you,” Oswald breathes with relief, dabbing at his forehead with a tissue. “That woman is the  _ worst _ .”

 

“I know and I saw she was getting into one of her rants, so I thought you might need some help. She’s always calling the precinct with some complaint or other,” Jim adds, shaking his head.

 

“Right?! She does the same, calls my office every day with some pretext.” Oswald changes his voice to imitate Mrs. Jacobson’s. “Mr. Mayor, you must have every door cut higher so I can pass through with my horns!”

 

Jim snickers and Oswald looks at him surprised, but also happy that he made Jim laugh. The detective’s fingers are still curled around his biceps and he squeezes it briefly, pointing Oswald a shady area under a tree. While they’re walking there, Oswald presses his lips tightly, unsure whether he should voice his question.

 

“If I may ask, I know it’s silly, but why did you help me?”

 

Oswald regrets asking it the moment the words are out of his mouth, seeing how Jim doesn’t answer for a few seconds, just stares ahead.

 

“Well, you put all this effort in organizing a nice celebration. I know most council members opposed the idea since everyone was thinking of the festivities from ‘99. But that doesn’t mean that a criminal will show up this time as well.”

Jim looks at Oswald, expression inscrutable. “You deserve to have a nice time too, and I didn’t want Mrs. Jacobson to ruin your day.”

 

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Oswald says and wonders, not for the first time in the past couple of months, what has gotten into Jim Gordon.

 

Not even two weeks before, Jim visited him at his office to have some papers signed.

 

_ “Mr. Cobblepot, sir, Jim Gordon is here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment, would you like to see him at this time or want me to schedule him an appointment for a later date?” His secretary's voice floats through the speaker on his phone.  _

 

_ Oswald couldn’t believe his ears, for a second he thought he might have misheard, but no, Jim Gordon was here at City Hall, waiting outside his office to see him. He fumbled, hitting a button, before grabbing the receiver.  _

 

_ “Yes!” Oswald cursed himself at how eager he sounded, tried to sound more nonchalant when he added, “Send him in.”  _

 

_ Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, his heart rate pounding as the door to his office cracked open and the face of his favorite detective was the first he saw, standing behind his secretary. Jim’s eyes locked onto his as he entered.  _

 

_ “Thank you, Ramsey.” Oswald absently said, not taking his eyes from Jim. The secretary didn't bother looking over her shoulder as she took her leave. _

 

_ “Sorry for the short notice, Mr. Mayor.” Hearing the title from James’s mouth forced Oswald to fight off a shiver. Jim had a small smile on his face, something akin to pride, but it was gone in a blink of an eye. _

 

_ Oswald inhaled, hoping it will steady his nerves. “Detective Gordon, what can I do for you?” _

 

_ Jim digged into his suit jacket, pulling out a set of documents and unfolding them.  _

 

_ “I need your signature.” Jim stepped forward, handing the papers over for Oswald to take. _

 

_ “Have a seat.” Oswald waved his hand towards the chair in front of his desk, taking a seat himself to glance over the papers.  _

 

_ After a few minutes of silence, the only sounds being ones of the flipping of the pages, Oswald spoke, “This must be rather important for you to make a trip all the way to City Hall for my signature, especially since you could have mailed these.”  _

 

_ Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’ve been meaning to stop by… I wanted to congratulate you on winning the election.”  _

 

_ Oswald stilled, his bewildered gaze snapping to stare at Jim, which only caused Jim to fidget even more. This was unusual for their relationship, Jim willingly visiting Oswald simply to congratulate him on his success as mayor.  _

 

_ “I… I have to say, Detective, this is quite the surprise. You’re the last person I thought would be pleased with the results of the election.” Oswald looked back down at the papers in his hands, flipped to the last page, preparing to sign it. _

 

_ “You always had the habit of proving everyone wrong.” Jim cleared his throat. “You’re doing a great job here, Oswald, you’re making a difference in Gotham.”  _

 

_ Oswald paused, pen hovering in the air over the signature line as he gaped at Jim, wide-eyed. His face burned as Oswald’s eyes dropped back to the paper in front of him, swallowed as he wrote his name and dated the document.  _

 

_ “Here you go.” Oswald stood, holding the papers out for Jim. The detective followed suit, hand reaching out, and briefly, Jim’s fingers brushed against Oswald’s. The touch lasted less than a second, but it was enough to stop them both in their movements. The electricity from it ran up Oswald’s arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps following its path.  _

 

_ “Thank you, Oswald.” _

 

Oswald looks at Jim furtively, trying to read in the lines of his face what the detective is thinking about. He’s desperate to keep the conversation going, so he grasps at the first subject that crosses his mind.

 

“I hope you will stay for the fireworks. I heard from a reliable source that they are going to be fantastic.”

 

Jim smiles, leaning his shoulder against the tree. “Oh really? Of course, I’ll stay, aren’t they the highlight of the day?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

Jim bites his lip, glancing at Oswald before continuing. “You know, as a child I would-”

 

Unfortunately, Jim is interrupted by the appearance of Gabe. Oswald turns towards him with a murderous expression. 

 

“What is it?” he grits through his teeth.

 

“Sorry to interrupt, Boss. The people from that children’s association want you to announce the party games.”

 

“Fine,” Oswald grunts. “Tell them I’ll be there soon.”

 

Oswald looks back at Jim, but he knows that whatever moment there was between them and the story Jim was about to tell him are gone now.

 

“I’m so sorry, Jim, I have to go.”

 

Jim places his hand on Oswald’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “It’s okay. Duty calls.”

 

Oswald blushes at the gesture, nods before heading to the open area where the contests will be held. A few steps later he turns around; Jim is still leaned against the tree, watching him. Oswald gulps before continuing his walk through the family picnics, faint dizziness encompassing him.

 

Luckily, he is greeted with a cold lemonade and he drinks it in one go, feeling much better. The organizers of the competition are all smiles and they quickly tell him about their plan for the next couple of hours. Eager children are gathering around the area, every participant getting a number on the back of their t-shirts. Concerned mothers are spreading sunscreen on their kids or putting caps on their tiny heads.

 

Oswald steps to the microphone, tapping it first to see whether it works. “Welcome, everyone! Thank you so much for coming today. Our wonderful team has prepared many games for you: egg and spoon races, wheelbarrow and sack races, various ball and balloon games, individual and team games. At the end, there will be a water balloon fight!”

 

“YEAH!” some kid yells happily and Oswald laughs before resuming his announcement. “There are fantastic prizes to be won, so make sure to do your best. But more importantly, please enjoy yourselves!”

 

People applaud and the children are already running around, so with a curt bow, Oswald lets the organizers take over. He retreats under a large tent where the various accessories for the games are stored and watches as children are putting their feet into sacks, some skilled, other clumsy. The start is announced with a horn and the excited parents on the side are encouraging their little offsprings to hop faster. 

 

The race doesn’t last long; most of the children’s coordination and balance are rather poor and several of the kids topple over far before they reach the finish line. Oswald covers his laugh behind his hand, watching the children wiggle in the potato sacks and attempt to return on their feet. The next two hours are a blur filled with games and sounds of laughter both from the parents and the children. 

 

During most of the events, Oswald notice his eyes trailing off to the side, seeking a certain detective. One of the organizers who approaches nearing the end of the festivities has to repeat herself two times. Oswald tears his gaze from Jim, watching him standing next to the grill, sipping on a beer. Even from this distance, Oswald could see the hard muscles flexing and moving underneath his almost see-through white shirt as Jim flips over the food.

 

“I-I’m sorry.” Oswald snaps his head forward. “What were you saying?” 

 

“Mr. Cobblepot, it’s time to pass out the prizes,” the organizer repeats. 

 

After the last prize is passed out and the gaggle of delighted children run off to play with their new toys, Oswald feels a slight tap upon his right shoulder. He turns around, finding the detective holding a bottled water.

 

“Here, thought you might need this. Your face’s flushed,” Jim explains and for a second Oswald thinks Jim is blushing, but he blames the warm weather instead.

 

“Thank  _ you _ .” Oswald accepts the bottle with gratitude, squeezing Jim’s arm once before quickly unscrewing the lid.

 

Jim laughs as Oswald takes several gulps. Oswald meets his eyes, sheepishly smiles, “This kind of weather does not agree with me.”

 

Oswald thinks the heat is doing more than not agree with him, but playing tricks on his mind as well. He could have sworn that Jim gives him a slow glance over, eyes trailing down his beige suit.

 

Oswald has managed to not shuck off his jacket in the last couple of hours, going only as far as unbuttoning it for some kind of relief against the unbearable warmth.

 

“Aren’t you burning up?” Jim pulls the lapel of Oswald’s blazer to the side. “You know, you’d probably feel a lot cooler if you took off your jacket. I doubt the celebration would come to an end if the mayor was wearing only a single layer for a change.”

 

Jim teasing him is a first. Oswald wonders if there was something in the beer he had been sipping on earlier. 

 

“I could see it now. The public outrage, children crying and screaming, the parents trying to cover their eyes from seeing their mayor’s indecency. I’m sure Mrs. Jacobson would lead the mob with her pitchfork ready.” 

 

Jim surprises Oswald again. The detective tosses his head back as he laughs. Something stirs deep inside Oswald, the butterflies break free, fluttering once more in his stomach. He’s unable to stop smiling, quite pleased at himself for causing such a reaction from Jim.

 

Oswald is just about to suggest Jim that they go and grab something to eat when there’s an announcement coming from one of the organizers.

 

“Now, we’re going to have a special race for the people who made this celebration possible: Mayor Cobblepot and the councillors from City Hall. Please, ladies and gentlemen, come up here.”

 

Despite the high temperature, Oswald becomes pallid. “Quick, Jim, let me hide behind your back!”

 

“What, why? You should go and play, I bet it will be fun,” Jim says and laughs when Oswald tries to get away.

 

Unfortunately, the organizers have noticed Oswald’s reluctance, and one of them is already there, beckoning him to come to the front where the other officials are already gathering.

 

“No, it’s fine, I don’t have to participate,” Oswald smiles nervously, eyes flashing daggers at Jim who’s laughing his ass off.

 

However, the girl at the microphone decides to publicly humiliate him: “People, Mayor Cobblepot is being shy! Let’s give him a round of applause to encourage him.”

 

Now there really is no escape; people are staring at him, so Oswald rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

 

“You also need to come,” the organizer turns towards Jim whose smile suddenly freezes. “We need pairs for this race.”

 

“But-”

 

“Unless you’d prefer someone else to be your partner?” The organizer asks Oswald.

 

Oswald smirks, licking his lips as he hoops his arm around Jim’s. “Oh no, Detective Gordon is perfect for this task.” As they walk to the front, he leans in so that only Jim hears him: “See, this is what happens when you don’t listen to me.”

 

Jim glares at him, but Oswald can see him fighting a smile, so he’s not worried.

 

“Alright, now that everyone is here, it’s time to reveal the task. Each pair will get a ball which they need to place between their hips. Whoever manages to get first to the finish line without dropping it wins the race.”

 

Oswald groans as they receive the yellow ball and Jim tries to place it between his right and Oswald’s left hip, squishing it a bit to keep it tight.

 

“Okay, get ready.”

 

“You’re not actually taking this seriously, are you?” Oswald asks when he notices Jim putting his right foot forward.

 

“Of course, I am,” Jim flashes him a smile to Oswald’s utmost horror. Why did he ever agree to this?! He cannot be fast with his bad leg, Jim must have realized that.

 

“Three, two, one, START!”

 

Every pair starts waddling as fast as they can, perspiration already gathering at the back of Oswald’s neck who’s doing his best not to embarrass Jim. Councillor Jenna Brown and her husband are the first to drop the ball and they have to go back to the startline and begin again.

 

Oswald is concentrating on not tripping when he feels Jim put his arm around his shoulder, his fingers gripping Oswald’s right shoulder. 

 

“Put your arm around me, it will be easier!” Jim says and Oswald does so, placing his hand on Jim’s side.

 

“That’s it,” Jim encourages him, and indeed, the ball is now more securely held and they can waddle faster.

 

When they have about a quarter of the race left, Oswald notices that there are only two other pairs still in the race and he pushes harder. His leg starts throbbing painfully and it must show on his face, because Jim glances at Jim with concern.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yes, just please don’t let that ugly toad Mr. Ray win, he will never let me live that down,” Oswald grumbles and he can feel Jim’s hold tightening. The detective can never resist a good challenge.

 

In the end, Oswald and Jim win the race.

 

Oswald doesn’t even realize they won until he hears the announcement: “Congratulations to our Mayor Cobblepot and Jim Gordon!” 

 

It’s ridiculous, the rush of pride bursting in his chest at winning something so frivolous. Oswald has fought his way through and conquered the title of being king of the criminal underworld, and yet standing there, victorious, with Jim Gordon right at his side, Oswald has never felt more proud. The feeling must be contagious, because when Oswald turns, his breath catches. Jim’s beaming at him, grinning so wide that it makes Oswald’s cheeks ache from just seeing it, but it’s a genuine smile, those blue eyes crinkled at the corners.

 

The grin falters as Oswald steps forward towards Jim, wincing as he puts all his weight on his bad leg. Jim’s hand shots out, reaching for Oswald. “Hey, are you alright-”

 

Jim’s interrupted as Oswald’s coworker walks by, dabbing a white towel across his forehead before slinging it over his shoulders.

 

“Good job out there, Cobblepot. You had everyone surprised, I definitely wasn’t expecting you to win.” Mr. Ray laughs, shaking his head. Oswald refrains from rolling his eyes, instead gives the council member a tight smile as he walks away.

 

Jim doesn’t appear impressed by the subtle insult from Mr. Ray. He gives a hard stare at the retreating figure before he crosses the short distance between them. 

 

Oswald’s ashen face has no color other than a slight flush to his cheeks from the exertion. His leg throbs with shooting pain running up and down, leaves him unsteady from it.  Oswald fears for a moment that his knee will buckle and give underneath him, but luckily Jim’s quick, catching him with a firm grip on his shoulder.

 

“Oswald,” Jim says, worry etching deep, causing wrinkles to form across his forehead. “Do you need to rest?”

 

Oswald shakes his head. “No, no, I’m fine, Jim. Just make sure Mr. Ray isn’t watching, he thinks me incompetent because of this.” Oswald points to his injured leg. 

 

Jim does as Oswald requests, glancing over to make sure the council member isn’t paying any attention. “He isn’t. You’re in the clear.” 

 

At this, Oswald drops his head, bends over with his palms flat against his thighs. He’s breathing deeply, trying to get some air into his lungs, but the air was dry and stale. Jim opens his mouth once more, simultaneously squeezing Oswald’s shoulder gently to gain his attention. 

 

Whatever Jim was going to say, Oswald doesn’t get the chance to hear it ‒ he’s again interrupted, but this time by one of the event’s organizers.

 

“Let’s get a photo of our winners!” 

 

Oswald’s stunned when Jim wraps his arm around his shoulders, tugging Oswald closer, a lot closer than necessary. Oswald realizes why: Jim’s offering him a chance to lean against him, to place all his weight against Jim, providing him a chance to give his leg a break from the pressure. Oswald fits perfectly under Jim’s arm. Oswald melts into his side, milking this once in a lifetime opportunity, he lays his head against Jim’s chest, inhaling the detective’s scent. 

 

He doesn’t want to pull away after the organizer lowers his camera from his eye and thanks them. If Oswald lingers longer than necessary once the organizer takes his leave, Jim doesn’t mention anything. Reluctantly, Oswald finally moves away, sending Jim an appreciative smile.

 

“Alright, folks! It’s time for our great water balloon fight. Everyone pair up in teams of four and come to the stations to get your balloons!” A young man announces, holding a microphone in one hand, calling for the public’s attention.

 

The crowd moves towards the direction of the stations, each one stock with a barrel of balloons already filled to the brink of bursting with water.

 

“That’s my cue.” Jim grins. “You coming?”

 

Oswald shakes his head, trying to fight the smile threatening to spread across his face at Jim’s enthusiasm. “Absolutely not. I’ll just relax and watch you.”

 

“It would help you cool down, you know?” Jim says as he leaves, still grinning.

 

“Yeah, yeah, perhaps another time.”

 

Oswald picks up his cane and retreats to a nearby bench, making sure that he is far away from where the water balloon fight is taking place. He cranes his neck looking for Gabe, hoping that he could get him something to eat before his speech, but of course the man is nowhere to be found when Oswald needs him.

 

“So Cobblepot, what do you think about that proposition from the waterworks company?” 

 

Oswald looks up, internally groaning, because not only is Mr. Ray bothering him during council meetings, but also now in his free time. Why can’t he just go and stuff his face with hot dogs like everybody else?! He puts on his polite mask and replies as evasive as possible while also subtly hinting at preferring to be left alone.

 

It’s been more than twenty minutes and Mr. Ray is still talking about various issues which would be more appropriate to be discussed at the next meeting, not here in the open. But Oswald doesn’t say anything since there’s no point anymore in attempting escape anymore: he can excuse himself soon thanks to his upcoming speech.

 

Just as Oswald is obediently nodding to some nonsense Mr. Ray is proposing, he hears a weird sound and then feels a few drops of water on his left leg. The remnants of a water balloon nearby is all the proof Oswald needs and he looks around with a murderous expression. It doesn’t take long for him to spot Jim smirking like a naughty boy.

 

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Ray, I need to speak to someone.”

 

Oswald presses his lips into a thin line, his irritation growing multifold as he leaves the shade. For some reason Jim’s grin makes his blood boil even more and he glares at the detective.

 

“What were you thinking, James?! You threw that water balloon so close, you splashed my shoes and trousers.”

 

“Sorry, Mr. Mayor,” Jim says, looking down for a second.

 

Despite the faux repentful tone, Oswald is taken aback by the title coming from Jim. It’s playfully said, but not mockingly, and just for the blink of an eye, Oswald imagines Jim saying it in a completely different context. His knees are giving out, this time for a different reason, and Oswald’s face hardens even more as he brushes aside certain thoughts.

 

“Jim Gordon, you’re the most inconsiderate man I’ve ever met! You launched that water balloon, knowing that I’m due to deliver a speech any minute now. Do you expect me to walk on that stage looking like a- What are you doing?”

 

Oswald suddenly forgets everything when Jim starts peeling off his slightly wet shirt and he just stands there looking like an idiot with his mouth hanging open. He’s staring at Jim’s defined chest, abs and his impressive biceps, wishing he could reach out and touch them gently, tracing them with his fingertips.

 

“It’s too hot,” Jim says, and Oswald gulps, tries to concentrate on the detective’s pretty face, but it isn’t really helping with his ability to form words.

 

“Yes, yes, it is,” Oswald agrees hastily and just for a second he glances at Jim’s pecs and he’s blushing and feeling faint.

 

Oswald grips his cane tightly. “I have to go, my speech should start in ten minutes.”

 

“Are you still mad at me?” Jim asks with his hands on his hips, looking slightly worried.

 

“Certainly, Detective. You need to get yourself in my good graces again,” Oswald says and turns around swiftly. 

 

He doesn’t get too much time to prepare for the speech. Oswald stands off to the side of the stage right before it starts, looking over the note cards he has brought. He loves addressing the crowds, standing at the center with Gotham as his audience. It makes his love for the city even stronger than before. 

 

Blood rushes to his cheeks when he turns out to gaze at the crowd and catches Jim’s eye. The detective waves at him and Oswald feels himself grow redder. He swiftly turns away, suddenly feeling like his days as a schoolboy, too nervous to smile back at the one kind classmate that never poked fun at him.

 

Oswald moves to the center of the stage when it’s time, he stands behind the microphone, tapping it once to ensure it functions properly. The wind is barely blowing, giving him hardly any relief as he starts his speech, but when it does, it brings along the strong aroma of food from earlier, making Oswald’s stomach rumble. He hopes that the microphone doesn’t pick up the noise.

 

The speech goes well, despite the sun bearing down on him, almost like some spotlight. He fights the temptation to pull at his collar or swipe at the sweat from his forehead. The glare from the sun blocks his view of the crowd, making him squint. From what he can tell, most of the families gathered around the picnic tables are eating. 

 

Finally, the speech comes to an end, and after a wave and a smile to the applauding audience, Oswald climbs down the stairs to join the rest. His abdomen gives a painful throb reminding him of his empty stomach. From what he can tell, many of the guests have already eaten and thrown their paper plates away in the nearby trash. Oswald’s stomach gives another pang ‒ he can taste the disappointment on the back on his tongue. His throat is parched and he swallows, trying desperately to get some moisture. 

 

He figures it’s useless, but he nears the table that earlier was covered with several aluminum foil pans filled with a variety of foods. However, the table appears to be vacant of any trace of food, much to Oswald’s dismay. He presses his hands against his grumbling stomach. Oswald isn't sure how much longer he could last without any sustenance, especially being under this extreme and intolerable heat. 

 

“Impressive speech, Mr. Mayor.” A voice comes from behind him. Something stirs in his lower stomach, masking the hunger pains temporary. 

 

“If you think flattery will make me forget about that little water balloon stunt you pulled earlier, you are quite mistaken, detective.” Oswald swings around, facing the other man. Oswald fights every urge to glance down at Jim’s still bare chest. 

 

The mischievous glint in Jim’s eyes gives Oswald no warning of the detective’s next actions.

 

“You mentioned that I needed to put myself back in your good graces,” Jim starts, plucking the white hat from Oswald’s head. 

 

Immediately, Oswald’s hands move to cup each side of his head, his mouth agape. Oswald is completely taken by surprise at Jim’s bold actions. He doesn’t understand what has gotten into the detective. Throughout the event, Jim has been constantly acknowledging Oswald’s presence when just months before Oswald was convinced that Jim wanted nothing to do with him. Jim even went as far as to strike up several conversations with the former gangster. Oswald can’t make sense of the sudden change in behavior. The only explanation is an implausible one: Jim Gordon is warming up to Oswald. 

 

Finally able to locate his tongue, Oswald steps forward, reaching for his hat. “And you thought that stealing my hat would do that? A simple apology would have been more successful.”

Jim barks out a laugh. Oswald wonders if he should start keeping a tally for how many times he has made the detective laugh today. 

 

“I  _ actually  _ did have something else in mind.” Jim leans his shoulder back along with his arm, moving the hat from Oswald’s reach to place it on the table. “But first, you have to get rid of that suit.”

 

Oswald frowns, glancing down at himself. “What’s wrong with my suit?”

 

“No, you look-” Jim catches himself, cutting himself off before finishing that particular sentence which causes the mayor to look back up at him with curiosity. “Nothing’s wrong with the suit, you just got too many layers on. You’re completely flushed.” 

 

“Jim… It’s improper for the mayor-”

 

Jim interrupts him, “You’ve already finished giving the speech, no one will care, trust me.” He points to himself as an example. “I’m a detective in the GCPD, do you you think I should put on a shirt?” 

 

“No!” Oswald realizes how he sounds when he notices the smirk growing on Jim’s face. He tries to salvage whatever dignity he has left. It’s challenging to think properly in this kind of weather, let alone stand inches away from smooth skin and defined muscles of the most attractive man in all of Gotham. 

 

“I just mean...” Oswald adds. “You shouldn’t be expected to, not in this heat. A mayor, however, should always be impeccably dressed at any occasion.” 

 

Jim crosses his arms. “C’mon, Oswald. It’s not like I’m asking you to take off your shirt here, just your jacket.” 

 

“You’re not?” Oswald grumbles. With Jim’s constant badgering it certainly felt like he was doing just that.

 

“Not yet,” Jim murmurs so low that Oswald almost doesn’t hear him. Before Oswald has a chance to register Jim’s words, Jim continues. “Forget about propriety for a moment, you don’t want to end up fainting in front of everyone just because you’re too stubborn to take off your jacket.”

 

Oswald can’t argue with him, he’s miserable in his suit. Finally, he caves, “Alright, but only because you make a good point about about fainting in front of the crowd. That wouldn’t be proper at all.”

 

Jim shakes his head at Oswald, but doesn’t question the reasons, instead his fingers clutch onto one of the lapels of Oswald’s jacket as he steps closer. Oswald just stares helplessly at Jim, he’s speechless at the proximity. At first, Jim stands completely still, his half-lidded eyes low, attention seemingly caught on something on Oswald’s face. 

 

Oswald heart seizes in his chest, stuttering in its steady rhythm. A ridiculous idea takes shape in the back of Oswald’s mind, Jim appears almost as if he’s seconds away from kissing him. When Jim finally moves, he starts tugging the jacket off, circling Oswald and easing it off from his shoulders. Oswald is certain that following Jim’s advice has been the right choice. The heat must be getting to him if Oswald’s convincing himself that Jim Gordon wanted to kiss him. 

 

Once the jacket has been removed, Jim folds it carefully, laying it on the picnic table beside Oswald’s hat. Jim turns back to Oswald and grabs one of his shoulders, “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” 

 

Oswald is only able to nod, watching Jim retreat, still breathless. He doesn’t have to wait long for Jim to return. The detective doesn’t come back empty-handed: he’s bringing a plate filled with food. Oswald’s mouth starts to water just by looking at it alone. 

 

“Good, you’re still here. I thought you would take the jacket and run while I wasn’t looking.” Jim teases. He pushes the plate forward. “Here, I haven't seen you eat anything since you’ve got here… Thought you might want something to eat.”

 

“Oh, Jim, you have no idea how famished I am,” Oswald whimpers and instantly attacks the pasta salad, humming after the first taste. “God,  _ so  _ good.”

 

Oswald catches Jim grinning, but he doesn’t care in that moment, he just needs to clench his hunger. However, when he’s done with the pasta, Oswald notices that Jim’s disappeared and his heart sinks. So that’s how long the magic lasted…

 

“What’s with the long face? I thought you were happy about the food,” Jim says as he slides in next to Oswald at the picnic table, placing two bottles of ice cold coke in front of them.

 

“I-I am, thank you so much. Just wondered if there was something to wash it down with,” Oswald says, grateful that Jim can’t read his mind and discover the fib he’s just told.

 

“I needed to do some grovelling, didn’t I?” Jim smiles and Oswald almost chokes on the soda when Jim’s knee touches his under the table.

 

“Yes, definitely,” Oswald tries to say with as much dignity as he can and he takes a bite of the hamburger, closing his eyes in delight. “This single bite has saved you, Jim Gordon.”

 

“Really? Well, you’ll be happy to hear that I grilled the patty myself for you,” Jim says proudly.

 

“Are you sure you haven’t missed your vocation? Imagine that, Jim Gordon, hamburger specialist,” Oswald teases, pressing his thigh against Jim’s for a second.

 

“It does have a nice ring to it,” Jim laughs, his knee brushing Oswald’s again. “But then who would keep you in check? I doubt a hamburger flipper would manage to scare you.”

 

“Well yes, but in this parallel universe I’d be a hotdog specialist,” Oswald says and only when Jim’s eyebrows rise and he starts laughing does Oswald realize the double-entendre of his words. “You know what I meant, you perv!”

 

Jim laughs even harder and Oswald can’t help it, but join him. He wonders if their conversation would be considered flirting and the butterflies in his stomach get even stronger. He’s blushing and can’t even look at Jim for longer than a second. Oswald feels like some kind of deity looked deep inside his heart and made his most ardent wish come true.

 

Oswald finishes his food and a sense of contentment envelops him. He feels sated, he has fantastic company and the air started cooling slightly as the sun dips below the horizon. He could sit at this picnic table until the end of time. Oswald has the urge to take Jim’s hand and put his head on Jim’s shoulder, watching the people getting ready for the firework like that, with no worries, only joy bubbling in his chest.

 

But he has to perform his last mayoral duties before it gets completely dark: Oswald has to make sure that all the fireworks are installed by the specialists. So with a heavy heart he tells Jim that he has to leave him for a while.

 

“Will you come back here? I was hoping I could show you something,” Jim asks and Oswald cannot fathom what would make Gotham’s best detective nervous.

 

“Of course, Jim. It shouldn’t take too long,” Oswald replies and before he goes, he takes his hat from the table and pushes it onto Jim’s head, laughing at the yelp Jim gives out.

 

“Payback, Detective.” 

 

Feeling bold, Oswald winks at Jim. He watches redness creep up Jim’s stunned face, flooding his cheeks. Either Jim Gordon has spent too long out in the sun or Oswald just made the detective blush. 

 

Oswald smiles to himself as he walks away, meeting the group of the other organizers over by the stage, standing around in a circle, holding a list of things still needed to be done. The next hour and half are tiring; Oswald feels like he’s constantly sprinting back and forth, checking to make sure things are running smoothly.

 

It’s a race against the lowering sun, knocked over hourglass with its sand pouring out, but Oswald and his team are diligent workers and manage to get all the last minute tasks completed before the sun completely disappears from view. 

 

Thankfully, the sun takes the humidity with it as it blurs into the horizon and vanishes. 

 

Once things have finally settled down, one of the organizers who snapped a picture of Oswald and Jim together from earlier, approaches him, explaining what they’re intending to do with the photo. 

 

“Do you want to see it? The photo?” The organizer asks, holding their camera for Oswald to take.

 

Oswald nods, slightly in a daze as he accepts the camera. Oswald can’t tear his eyes away from the picture of him and Jim together. He melts, warmth spreading through his body as he takes in the sight of them. They pose as if they’ve done it a million times before, a familiarity that only lovers would have, an air of intimacy curled around them with the way Oswald leans towards Jim. 

 

Oswald thanks the organizer before returning the camera. His face warms as he turns away, remembering Jim’s hand sliding down his arm, fingers pressing into his waist as the camera flashes.

 

It’s still light enough for Oswald to make his way back to the table where a certain detective would be waiting for him. He passes many families on the way, watching them setting out blankets for them and their children to sit on while they watch the fireworks show. 

 

Oswald’s hair lifts with the light breeze in the air, strong enough to loosen the strands from the bind of the hair gel and his hair falls forward across his forehead. Oswald pushes it back, running his hand through it once, but freezes when he finds no one waiting for him at the table. 

 

The picnic table is vacant and Oswald feels his chest pang with disappointment tightly wrapped around his heart, squeezing painfully. 

 

_ It was good while it lasted _ , Oswald thinks. He casts a glance around the park, searching for Jim, but he’s nowhere in sight. Oswald exhales, tries not to dwell on the detective disappearing on him. There are a million reasons why Jim could have suddenly left, like perhaps a call from work pulled him away from the celebration. Oswald can rationalize all he wishes, but the idea of Jim leaving because of something he has done nags at him. 

 

What if Jim was just being friendly? What if Oswald misread the entire situation and made Jim uncomfortable? Oswald regrets his earlier actions. He was too obvious with his flirting, shoving his hat onto the detective’s head and winking at him. Oswald scared Jim away. 

 

Oswald goes to join the others once more, finding Gabe spreading out a red and black checkered blanket for Oswald. 

 

Gabe straightens and already knows Oswald’s upset by the despondent expression on his face. “What’s wrong, Boss? Thought you would be happy with how everything turned out today.” 

 

Oswald knows Gabe is right. He should be rather pleased with how successful the event was, but feelings of disillusionment are much more potent.

 

“Nothing’s wrong.” Oswald smiles sadly, carefully lowering onto the blanket without straining his leg. “Show should start any moment now.” 

 

Oswald doesn’t think he’ll be able to enjoy the fireworks though, he’s lost in his thoughts when he feels a hand cupping his shoulder. Alarmed, he snaps his head up to give the stranger a piece of his mind before realizing who it is.

 

“Jim…” Oswald is breathless. “I… I thought you left.” 

 

Jim grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily. “Sorry about that. One of the other officers asked me if I could help with his car. Apparently he left his headlights running and his battery ran dead. Needed a jump start. Wouldn’t have normally took so long, but I couldn’t find any jumper cables.” 

 

“Oh.”  

 

“Mind if I join you?” Jim smiles shyly, pointing to the unoccupied spot next to Oswald on the blanket. 

 

“I- of course not! Please sit!” Oswald scoots over to give the detective more room. He waits as Jim gets settled, ignoring the distance Oswald has given him and sitting where their hips are inches away from touching. 

 

Oswald’s breath hitches at the proximity, his voice shakes as he asks: “Why aren’t you with your partner? I thought you would want to watch the show with Detective Bullock.” 

 

“Harvey’s a little preoccupied with Mrs. Jacobson.” 

 

Oswald follows Jim’s gaze and finds the devilish woman laughing at something Jim’s partner said with her head tossed back. 

 

“I didn’t know she could laugh. He does know she’s married, right?” Oswald fights off a snicker. 

 

Jim leans in, whispering conspiratorially into Oswald’s ear. “I don’t think he cares.”

 

Oswald struggles not to shiver. Jim’s cool breath tickles his skin, but Oswald doesn’t pull away and neither does Jim. 

 

Oswald faces him, a smile playing on his face. “Our picture is going to be framed and hung up at City Hall.” 

 

“You have to make sure it’s placed right outside Mr. Ray’s office window, so he can be constantly reminded about the time he lost to you,” Jim suggests unexpectedly. 

 

Oswald snorts. “What a devious mind you have, Jim.” 

 

It only makes Jim’s grin widen even more. 

 

“They’re going to send us copies, by the way,” Oswald adds teasingly. “I think I’ll have mine framed and placed in my office.” 

 

Jim laughs. “I guess that means I’ll have to set mine up on my desk back at the precinct.” 

 

Oswald knows Jim must be joking, but the thought of Jim keeping their photo there makes his heart leap in his chest. “Stop teasing me, detective.”

 

“I wasn’t teasing you, I was serious,” Jim whispers, bumping his shoulder against Oswald’s playfully.

 

Oswald swallows and looks at Jim, and even though the detective is not looking at him, Oswald can see that Jim is smiling.

 

“Oh, remember I wanted to tell you something earlier?” Jim asks, his eyes suddenly lighting up. “If you want, I can actually show it to you.”

 

“Now?” Oswald asks, with furrowed eyebrows. “The fireworks should start soon.”

 

Jim looks at him, his face barely a few inches away and his eyes wide open. “Trust me, you won’t miss the show.”

 

Oswald nods and Jim helps him get up from the blanket, his strong arms pulling up Oswald easily. Jim is hurrying in the opposite direction from the stage, easily navigating between people, but Oswald has a more difficult time keeping up the pace. At one point, they are separated by a horde of excited children and Oswald tries to yell over their noises.

 

“Jim! Wait!”

 

Luckily, Jim hears him and waits for the children to pass.

 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to run away,” Jim says and then takes Oswald’s left hand, gently dragging him.

 

Oswald is so surprised, he doesn’t say anything, but his body reacts in every way possible: butterflies are fluttering in his stomach, tremors are traveling through his body and he’s blushing so much, he’s sure he’s going to catch on fire.

 

Jim looks back at him and smiles when they finally manage to leave the crowd behind. Oswald already feels disappointed, because he’s certain Jim will let go of his hand, but the detective just continues straight ahead, leading Oswald to a wall densely covered by ivy by the edge of the park.

 

“What?” Oswald asks curiously.

 

Jim grins before he sweeps away the ivy to show that what Oswald thought was a wall is actually a door. “I haven’t been here in years, I hope I can still open it,” Jim mumbles as he puts his bare shoulder against the heavy wooden door and pushes.

 

It opens on the second try with a creaking noise and the two men enter, Oswald looking around with wide eyes.

 

“What is this place?”

 

“It used to be a kind of secret garden. Founded many decades ago, I think exotic plants were grown here, but even in my childhood it was abandoned. Shame, it must have been a nice place.”

 

Oswald nods as they pass by an old fountain with a statue in the middle. In the dim light, he cannot make it out what it is, but Jim is right, the place must have been magical, especially in a city like Gotham. He vows to find out as much information about it as possible. There’s also a vague plan of renovating the garden forming in the back of his mind.

 

Jim leads Oswald to a staircase, his hand on Oswald’s lower back as they climb to the highest step. Jim sits even closer to him, his arm and knee constantly bumping against Oswald’s, who starts wondering whether it’s an accident. Before he does something stupid like putting his hand on Jim’s knee, Oswald tries to focus.

 

“So, how do you know about this secret garden?”

 

“My dad showed it to me. We’d sometimes come here to escape the crowds. Not many people knew about it, so it was always fun coming here and watching the fireworks in peace.”

 

Oswald’s heart swells at the thought of Jim sharing something so private, something only Jim and his father knew about. It prompts Oswald to share something as well, not because he wishes to balance the scales between them, but because he wants Jim to see him, wants Jim to unveil the many layers that Oswald hides behind. 

 

He sways on purpose, nudging his shoulder against Jim’s. “I never got to attend one of these events when I was younger.”

Oswald can see out of his peripheral vision Jim turning to look at him. 

 

“You never got to watch the fireworks as a kid?” 

 

He blushes, embarrassed at the stark, obvious contrast between Jim’s and his childhood. Oswald knew that growing up with a district attorney as a father, Jim probably never knew just how harsh Gotham could be for the poor. Oswald spent his trying to make enough to afford the month’s rent and his mother’s medications.

 

Oswald shakes his head, staring down at his hands folded on his lap. He startles when Jim grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together. Oswald hopes that Jim won’t be able to feel his racing pulse from the touch alone. 

 

“We can experience them together then.” 

 

It feels like a promise when Jim squeezes his hand and doesn’t let go. Oswald can’t tear his gaze away from him as Jim turns to face the night sky, waiting for the show to begin.

 

A whistling noise catches Oswald’s attention, and he pulls his eyes away from the detective. He cranes his neck upward, just in time to witness the first firework of the night. Shades of purple burst amongst the stars, coloring the dark sky. Oswald watches in awe at the beautiful explosion. 

 

The night continues, the warmth of summer lingers in the air, with the fireworks growing in size each time the pyrotechnist ignites the fuse. The fireworks are stunning and as spectacular as Oswald hoped. His main goal was to ensure that the citizens of Gotham would be more than satisfied with the display. Oswald knows he would have enjoyed the show regardless, but with Jim Gordon being by his side it only heightens the experience. 

 

It’s overwhelming. The press of their thighs together, the absent stroke across his skin by Jim’s thumb, the path erupting in goosebumps, the breeze carrying the scent of Jim’s cologne and just a hint of gunpowder to fill Oswald’s nostrils. 

 

Oswald begins to yawn, after observing a particular firework, exploding oranges and reds raining down across the sky. 

 

“Are you tired?” Jim leans over, breath tickling the shell of Oswald’s ear. 

 

He nods before admitting, “A little bit.” 

 

“C’mere,” Jim murmurs and at first Oswald doesn’t quite grasp what Jim wants him to do until Jim’s arm is encircling him, pulling him closer.

 

Immediately, Oswald curls into the detective’s side, situating his head on top of Jim’s shoulder. Jim is still clasping onto Oswald’s hand, this time tugging it across Oswald’s lap to rest it against Jim’s thigh.

 

There’s a lull in the firework show and Oswald smiles when he can hear distant cheering from the people who think the firework show is over.

 

“That was lovely, Mr. Mayor,” Jim says, no doubtedly with a smile.

 

Oswald giggles. “It’s not over yet. The best is yet to come, in fact.”

 

A few seconds later, the next round of fireworks flies up with a loud noise, each one exploding in a series of humble sparks which then erupt in brilliant colors, painting the night sky for long seconds. Oswald grins with satisfaction, knowing well that people are going to talk about this celebration for a long time. The show becomes more and more intensive and breathtaking, But Oswald suddenly notices that Jim isn’t even watching it, but looking at him.

 

“Jim, why aren’t you watching it?” he asks with a smile, but his mouth opens when he looks up at Jim and recognizes the look in his big eyes. The detective lets go of his hand and cups Oswald’s face, his thumb caressing his cheekbone. “Jim, what are you-”

 

Oswald forgets what he was about to say as Jim leans in and captures his lips in a gentle kiss, letting go after a moment to see Oswald’s reaction, his eyes searching the mayor’s face. He doesn’t need to worry, though, because Oswald pulls him back, moaning when Jim’s soft lips are again pressing against his. So maybe it wasn’t the heat that made him hallucinate things and Jim really liked him? Oswald feels dizzy at the thought and his hand slips to the back of Jim’s neck, caressing the soft skin there. 

 

Although he’s embarrassed to admit it, Oswald has imagined this moment countless times. None of his fantasies live up to reality, though, not with Jim’s warm hand squeezing his hip every time Oswald kisses him back, or the tingles running down his back when Jim smiles against his mouth. Oswald is barely aware of the firework display in the background, Jim kissing along his jaw provoking similar sensations inside his chest.

 

When the show is over, Oswald lays his head on Jim’s shoulder again, holding him tightly in the dark and quiet. Jim’s strong arms encircle him, his embrace comforting. Oswald thinks he reached peak happiness until Jim kisses the top of his head and then puts his face against Oswald’s head.

 

“I didn’t know, well, I certainly hoped that one day you would, but… I didn’t know you liked me,” Oswald whispers, afraid that he’s going to wake alone in his bed any moment now.

 

Jim stays silent for a few seconds which prompts Oswald to look up at him. Although he cannot be sure, it looks like Jim is blushing.

 

“I have, for quite a long time, but I have been fighting against these feelings,” Jim admits, his fingers sneaking under Oswald’s shirt.

 

Oswald tries not to become distracted by the gentle touch. “So what changed?”

True to his stoic nature, Jim only shrugs. “I don’t know. You… me… everything.”

 

“Well, I’m glad,” Oswald says, pressing a kiss to Jim’s bare collarbone.

 

“Only glad?” Jim teases, bumping his nose against Oswald’s before kissing him.

 

“Alright, I’m ecstatic, you insufferable man,” Oswald murmurs, hiding his face in Jim’s neck.

 

Jim laughs, pecking Oswald’s face all over, finishing with a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I know this is very new and we have a lot to talk about, but… uh… I was thinking… would you maybe like to spend the night at my place?”

 

Oswald knows his cheeks warm at Jim’s question, a dusty pink settling on his face, by the way the corner of Jim’s mouth curls into a half grin. Oswald nods, biting down on his lower lip, the action drawing the detective’s attention, Jim’s eyes fixed once more on Oswald’s mouth. 

 

Oswald’s unable to help himself, his eyes fluttering shut as Jim’s lips land on his cheekbone. Jim’s mouth lingers, the soft press of his lips against his cheek, his breath against Oswald’s freckles as Jim’s lips pull apart as he inhales. 

 

Jim’s mouth drags upward, giving Oswald’s a quick peck on the temple before he whispers, “I can’t believe I’m finally able to do this.” His words make Oswald’s heart rate erratic, thumping loudly in his chest. Oswald has to wonder just how long has the detective been wanting to kiss him? 

 

“Come on.” Jim stands, holding out his hand for Oswald to take. Oswald feels giddy as he slips his fingers between Jim’s. 

 

No one notices the sudden reappearance of their Mayor, nor the hidden door to the garden swinging open revealing the two standing hand in hand. Most of the families have already left, but the few stragglers that remain are distracted with collecting their belongings, carrying their sleepy children over their shoulders back to their vehicles. 

 

Jim and Oswald follow the crowd, heading toward the same direction where the parked cars are. They weave between the vehicles, stopping in front of the detective’s familiar car in the very last row, away from the others.

 

After Jim fumbles with his keys, unlocking the doors, Oswald leans forward, peering over Jim’s shoulder as he reaches to grab his shirt in the backseat. 

 

“Is that my hat and jacket?” Oswald asks after seeing his clothing folded neatly, resting on the leather seats. He turns towards the detective, curious to hear Jim’s answer. 

 

Oswald wants to laugh at the sheepish expression that crosses Jim’s face. 

“I-I didn’t want to leave your clothes behind when Officer Grady asked for help with his car. So I brought them along and left them here.” Jim rubs the back of his neck nervously with one hand. 

 

“Awfully thoughtful of you,” Oswald says distractedly, appreciating the way Jim’s muscles flex as he slips his arms through the sleeves of his shirt.

 

Jim laughs, pulling the white shirt over his head, his hair being ruffled in the process. “Well, we wouldn’t want someone to steal the Mayor’s clothes.” 

 

“Good to know that I have my own personal detective, here to protect me from any thievery,” Oswald teases. “Although, I don’t think anyone here would have been remotely interested in my jacket or hat, but I appreciate your efforts.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Jim rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, so Oswald doesn’t worry about offending him, especially not when Jim leans his weight back against the side of his vehicle, wrapping one arm around Oswald’s waist and tugging him closer. 

 

“Oof-” A puff of air escapes him as Oswald falls forward. He raises himself, palms flat against the detective’s chest as he leans far back enough to look him in the face. Jim appears exactly how Oswald feels: intoxicated simply from being in each other’s proximity, the shared heat between their bodies, the new found freedom of finally being able to touch one another freely. An addicting feeling. 

 

Oswald slides his hands upward, loosely wrapping his arms around Jim’s neck as he plants several open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, his lips trailing up until he reaches Jim’s mouth. The detective moans, both hands resting on Oswald’s lower back as he pulls him even closer, until there’s no physical space left between them, chests pressing flat against each other. 

 

Jim leans back, tongue swiping over his red, swollen lips. “You keep kissing me like that and we’ll never get to my apartment.”

 

“Jim!” Oswald exclaims, laughing as he lightly punches the detective’s chest. He puts his hat on, but decides to just carry his jacket in his hand since he still feels hot. Oswald goes even as far as to undo two buttons of his shirt since no one will see or even care under cover of darkness.

 

He forgot to count Jim, though, who seems very much interested in the movement, his eyes tracing it hungrily. Jim reaches out and caresses the smooth skin of Oswald’s neck with his index finger, both men swallowing hard.

 

“Let’s go,” Oswald clears his throat, trying to keep at bay the desire to kiss Jim senseless against his car. “I’ll message Gabe not to wait for me.”

 

“Is it okay if we walk back to my place? It’s not that far away, about ten minutes at a leisured pace. Unless you’re feeling tired, of course,” Jim says, glancing at Oswald’s leg.

 

“It’s alright, we both need to clear our heads. Besides, you also had to drink.”

 

Jim laughs, putting his arm around Oswald’s shoulder. “It was one beer, Mr. Mayor, and that was hours ago.”

 

Oswald and Jim walk slowly in the almost empty streets, bickering and laughing. Just as Jim finishes a funny story, they pass by a bar that’s still open.

 

“Hey Jim, isn’t that Harvey and Mrs. Jacobson over there?”

 

The detective squints, then joins Oswald at the window. “No, what would they-”

 

“It is them!” Oswald whispers. “Just look at her hair, I’d recognize it everywhere. And that Hawaiian shirt is exactly the one Harvey was wearing at the celebration.”

 

“I guess, but what are they doing here?”

 

The answer comes a moment later and both Oswald and Jim scramble to get away from the window, horrified and forever traumatized by Harvey and Mrs. Jacobson making out like two horny teenagers.

 

They get away quickly, none of them saying a word until they look at each other and both of them burst out laughing. “Why?!”

 

“That was… I really didn’t need to see that,” Jim groans, but can’t stop laughing. “Good thing we made it to my flat, do you want something to drink?”

 

“Sure. But just one glass,” Oswald says as he enters Jim’s flat.

 

Even though Oswald knew about Jim’s new place, he’s never been here. He thought their relationship would never go back to the way it was in the beginning, though if he were completely honest, Jim only tolerated him back then. They weren’t really friends except in Oswald’s fantasies. But now, things are looking up.

 

Oswald awkwardly stands in the center of the room, watching Jim’s figure disappear from view as he slips inside what Oswald presumes ‒ after hearing the familiar sounds of a fridge opening ‒ is the kitchen area. He peers about the room, eyes flitting around, never quite landing on anything in particular. He hums softly to himself, stepping forward to examine the rows of books on Jim’s shelf. 

 

Butterflies flutter in Oswald’s stomach as he traces his fingertips along the spines of the books. Most of them are biographies of great war veterans. Unsurprisingly, several true crime novels were mixed in between. Rereading the book titles does nothing to ease Oswald’s racing mind or his nerves. He fidgets, rolling the buttons of his shirt between his thumb and index fingers. 

 

Oswald’s unsure of what’s expected of him tonight. The memory of the taste of Jim’s lips on his lingers; Oswald touches his bottom lip, remembers the pressure of Jim’s mouth, thinking about the way the detective looked at him earlier. Oswald has seen that look before, but never has it been directed towards him. He worries about where this night will lead to; while he wants nothing more than to spend it kissing the detective, he’s afraid his inexperience will stand out like a sore thumb, glaringly obvious, and Jim would regret inviting him over to spend the night.

 

“Got you a glass of whiskey,” Jim murmurs from behind him, arms encircling his waist dragging Oswald away from his inner turmoil and back onto the present. Oswald momentarily forgets his nerves, accepting the glass as Jim takes the opportunity to plant a small kiss along Oswald’s neck before resting his chin on top of Oswald’s shoulder. 

 

Oswald’s hands shake as he brings the glass to his lips, downing the drink in its entirety. He doesn’t want to say anything. He wishes that they could stay like this, Oswald secure in Jim’s embrace. He struggles to find the words, not wanting to face Jim’s disappointment just yet ‒ he fears that Jim will immediately let go of him once Oswald starts to speak.

 

“I like your freckles.” 

 

Oswald is thrown off guard by Jim’s statement. “I- What?” 

 

“I like your freckles,” Jim repeats, voice low as his nose drags against the shell of Oswald’s ear after he presses another kiss to Oswald’s throat. “First thing I noticed about you.”

 

Oswald shifts and Jim’s hands adjust, sliding along and across his ribs before resting against his lower back as Oswald turns around to face the detective. 

 

“And your eyes. You have the most beautiful eyes,” Jim continues, smiling as Oswald’s face pinkens at his compliments. “Never could pinpoint the exact color of them.” 

 

Jim’s tactic is obvious. He’s trying to distract Oswald, but it’s effective. It appears that the detective already figured out why Oswald is nervous. Tension drains from him. Jim’s first reaction hasn’t been to kick him out, but to reassure him, to make Oswald feel more comfortable. 

 

“I’m sorry, Jim. It’s not that I don’t want to, but I’m not…” Oswald admits, blushing. “Well, I’m not experienced with this sort of thing.” 

 

“Hey, it’s alright. This is new for me too.” Jim grabs the empty glass in Oswald’s hand, placing it behind him on the coffee table along with Oswald’s hat. 

 

The humidity did quite a number to his hair, not even the large amount of hair product could stop it. Perspiration caused the ends to twist, curling upward, but all those curls escape, falling forward as soon as Jim removed his hat. 

 

Jim brushes his hair away from his forehead. “Besides, that wasn’t what I had in mind tonight.”

 

“It wasn’t?”

 

“No.” Jim shakes his head, hand lowering to cup Oswald’s face. Jim’s expression turns shy as he explains, “I really just didn’t want this night to end.”

 

Oswald’s mouth slightly gapes open as the detective drags his thumb over his cheekbone. “There’s no need for us to rush, Oswald.”

 

Jim’s words leave Oswald speechless, so he just launches himself at the detective and hugs him tightly, Jim wrapping him in his arms. “Thank you,” he finally whispers into Jim’s ear, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek.

 

It’s a lovely sight the way Jim blushes before he looks down and smiles. “Alright, I guess it’s time to go to sleep.”

 

Oswald follows Jim into his bedroom, leaning against the doorframe as Jim is looking for some clothes he could lend to Oswald. “I think these will fit you,” he says, handing Oswald a t-shirt and sweatpants. “The bathroom is in there.”

 

With a smile, Oswald retreats to change. He’s glad to finally take off his shirt and trousers and change into something lighter. As soon as he puts on the t-shirt, he sniffs the material. He’s hoping to have a whiff of Jim, but the shirt only smells like detergent. Maybe Jim will give him a goodnight kiss and then he can feel him again.

 

Oswald goes back to the bedroom, smoothing Jim’s a bit too large shirt over his chest. Jim’s eyes crinkle when he sees Oswald in his clothes. “You look good.”

 

Blushing, Oswald just waves Jim off, he’s sure the detective is just being polite. The clothes will never look as good on his skinny frame as on Jim’s muscled body.

 

“So, I only have this one bed… we could share it or if you don’t want that, I can sleep on the couch,” Jim says, not meeting Oswald’s eyes. 

 

“That’s completely absurd.” Oswald shakes his head. “We can share the bed. There’s no need for you to sleep on the couch in your own home.” 

 

Oswald’s response seems to satisfied Jim, smoothing that worried wrinkle between his brows. 

 

“I don’t mind sharing the bed  _ unless… _ ”

 

Oswald tilts his head to the side, waiting for the detective to finish that sentence. There’s that impish glint to his eyes, one he’s seen earlier when Jim tossed a water balloon at him.

 

“Unless what?” Oswald narrows his eyes, fighting the urge to smile at Jim’s playfulness.

 

“Unless you snore, then I’m afraid one of us is gonna be sleeping on the couch.” Jim grins at him, continues. “And you look like a snorer.” 

 

Oswald pretends to be offended by his statement. “I am not a snorer!” 

 

“How’d you know? You’re asleep,” Jim asks him, taking a step closer towards him. Oswald opens his mouth to answer, but he’s stumped. Derailed by Jim’s logic.

 

“And if I were?” Oswald raises his chin defiantly, forgets about his attempt to not smile. “What are you going to do, detective? Send me to the couch?”

 

“No...” Jim crosses his arms, appearing to seriously ponder Oswald’s question which makes the gangster giggle. “I suppose I’ll just have to get some ear buds for next time.” 

 

Next time? Oswald lifts one of his eyebrows at how sure Jim sounded. “My, my, someone’s confident I’ll return. What if it’s you who ends up being the snorer?”

 

Jim looks amused as he catches Oswald’s chin with his hand, holding it between his thumb and index finger. “Get in the bed, Mr. Mayor.” 

 

Oswald shivers at Jim’s voice, hearing Jim refer to him with that title does funny things to his stomach, a fire igniting, spreading in his gut and for a second Oswald isn’t capable of thinking clearly. Merely shuts his eyes as Jim leans forward to kiss Oswald once before he pulls away. Oswald follows Jim’s order, pulling back the covers and sliding in between them.

 

He reasons, as he settles back against the pillows, being mayor means he should listen to his constituents and after all, it would be un-mayor like of him to blatantly ignore one of his citizen’s request.

 

Jim’s smile drops, expression turns serious as his fingers hold the hem of his shirt. “I sleep in my boxers, is that alright? I can change into some pajamas if you want me to.” 

 

Oswald’s heart flutters at how concerned the detective looks, clearly prititorizing’s Oswald comfort over his own. 

 

“No, no, I don’t mind,” Oswald assures him, distractedly watching Jim peel off his white shirt, admiring the many muscles at work. He absolutely doesn’t mind at all.

 

Oswald doesn’t realizes he said that latter portion out loud until Jim’s bent head raises, quickly glancing up at him with a smirk, before he continues undoing his belt and sliding his shorts off. Oswald feels his breath catch as his gaze follows the direction of the shorts hitting the floor, met with toned, tanned legs enveloped in tight, dark boxers that barely stop at mid thigh. 

 

“You’re staring, Oswald.” Jim straightens, hands coming to rest at his hips.

 

Oswald forces himself to look away from the miles of smooth skin and hard defined muscles and meet Jim’s eyes, blushing at being caught ogling the man. 

 

“I-I still can’t wrap my head around this. Us,” he admits, waving a finger between the two. “That this is real and I’m not dreaming.”

 

Jim’s whole expression softens as a smile overtakes his face. Oswald feels the mattress sink as Jim climbs onto the end of the bed, crawling on his knees until he’s hovering over him and straddling the gangster. His hands are flat against the headboard, resting on each side of Oswald’s head.

 

“I’ll be awfully disappointed if you were dreaming too,” Jim says before leaning down and giving Oswald a peck before flopping over to his side. He scoots closer, situating himself under Oswald’s arm and resting his head against Oswald’s chest.

 

Oswald buries his nose into Jim’s hair, inhaling his scent, as he listens to Jim breathe, the heat of his breath permeating through the thin shirt and warming his skin. 

 

It’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds being their breathing intertwining, blending together before Jim speaks so softly that Oswald almost doesn’t hear him. 

 

“I could have been listening to you snore so much earlier.” Jim laughs, fingers teasing, gently pinching Oswald’s side. His lighthearted tone drops, a serious edge underlining his voice as he continues. “I’ve wasted so much time for us.” 

 

Oswald’s unable to see, but he knows Jim has that troubled look on his face. He doesn’t want Jim to disappear into his thoughts. He kisses the top of Jim’s head, hoping to drag the detective back to his present surroundings. “There’s plenty of time for us to catch up.”

 

Jim sighs with relief, presses a kiss along the base of Oswald’s throat. “That reminds me, when’s the next event City Hall is planning?” 

 

“Why?” Oswald teases, “You thinking about attending?” 

 

The detective yawns, tucking his head underneath Oswald’s chin. “I was considering it. Maybe show up with a few water balloons. I could always bring Mrs. Jacobson and Harvey along.” 

 

“Don’t you  _ dare _ !” Oswald could feel Jim’s chest rumble as he laughs. 

 

“But-” Oswald shifts, moving his arm to wrap around Jim, accommodating Jim’s silent request to hold him closer. “I wouldn’t mind, you know, if you did attend any future events, sans water balloons and Mrs. Jacobson, of course.” 

 

“Yeah?” Jim murmurs into his chest.

 

“Yeah, you’d make the loveliest arm candy.” His remark is rewarded with a sharp pinch to his side, which makes Oswald yelp, laughing at Jim’s grumbling. 

 

Oswald's eyelids starts to drift close, feeling the heat of Jim’s body pressed against him making him drowsy.

 

“Tomorrow night.” Jim’s voice startles Oswald awake. He hasn’t even been aware that he fell asleep for a second. “I wanna take you out on a proper date.” 

 

“A proper date, huh? I feel flattered.” Jim gives a breathy laugh at that. 

 

“Tell me more about this ‘proper date’. What does that include?” Oswald sleepily questions.

 

“Flowers. Dinner. The usual.” 

 

“Sounds romantic,” Oswald replies, deadpan. He can feel Jim smile against his skin. No doubt rolling his eyes at Oswald’s cheekiness, but Jim sounds half asleep, himself. Oswald wouldn’t be surprised if the detective’s eyes were already shut.

 

“I wanna make up for lost time,” Jim tells him, and while his words are slurred with sleep, Oswald can hear him perfectly. 

 

“I’d like that,” Oswald says as sincere as he’s capable of, wanting Jim to know he wasn’t joking about this, not when it concerned them. 

 

Jim’s words strikes a match within Oswald, igniting a spark, and his love for Jim burst, explodes like a firework in his chest. 

 

He drifts, eyes closing as he reminisces the pressure of Jim’s lips on his, the soft inhale as Jim pulled away, the way his eyes flitted, seeking, as the glow from the fireworks lit up his face, revealing all the emotions the detective felt. Jim looked at Oswald like he was coming undone, unravelled just like Oswald has always experienced when he was with Jim. 

 

Oswald’s breathing slows, matching the pace of the man in his arms. Sleep takes over, and Oswald dreams of fireworks and shared kisses, of what the future will bring for them.


End file.
